Blog Lobster?

The first question is whether this should be called a "Lobster Blog" at all. Several friends have suggested I call it "Blog Lobster," in honor of the B-52s song, "Rock Lobster." My feeling is that a person can dance to a song but not to a blog, so we ought to avoid misleading titles. (If you are dancing while reading this, contact me immediately.)

THE SECRET LIFE OF LOBSTERS won't be in bookstores for another couple of weeks -- June 1st is the book's official publication date -- so I'm writing this during what a fisherman would refer to as the lull before the storm. I've hidden myself away in my office in Boston, hoping to avoid "lobster creep." By this I mean the ever-encroaching supply of lobster-themed goods and paraphernalia that permeates New England -- lobster napkins, lobster dishtowels, lobster potholders, lobster bibs, lobster key chains, lobster lollipops, lobster chocolates. There is even a sex toy boasting a lobster-claw feature. (It's called the Trigasm.)

Don't get me wrong -- I have nothing against these products, and sometimes give them as gifts to others (though I have yet to find a recipient for that last one). But I have become obsessed with lobsters in a way that most people, even lobstermen, are not. I have dedicated several years of my life to catching lobsters, researching their most intimate habits, and exposing their deepest secrets. Although I have a varied career as a writer and editor involving a variety of subjects, this book will probably make me "the lobster guy" for a while. As a result, I have been wondering how to maintain my sanity, and I have arrived at a solution. I will avoid acquiring lobster kitsch.

Hungry?
Jeff Costa as Lobsterman

Already, however, there are signs that this is the wrong approach. Perhaps I need to embrace lobsterhood. Consider, for example, the case of "Lobsterman," who recently achieved nationwide fame on John Stewart's "The Daily Show" as the wrestler who is campaigning to become president of the United States.

A.k.a. Jeff Costa, based in New Hampshire, Lobsterman promotes himself with the motto "It's not about the claws." This seems disingenuous -- clearly it's about the claws. He campaigns in a brilliant red suit decorated with gold sequined lobsters, a flashy red cape, and, most impressively, giant red claws over his hands. I admit to being jealous. If Lobsterman can achieve nationwide fame and presidential status by embracing lobsterness, then perhaps I should surround myself with as much lobster kitsch as I can.

If that's the case I have some catching up to do. Let me take a quick inventory of my office. There are some books about lobsters on the shelf. That's already unusual, but understated. There is a nautical chart on the wall showing the waters around Little Cranberry Island, the island described in my book. However, only the most seasoned insider would know that the chart reveals secrets about the best places to catch lobsters. Under the chart hangs a small framed photograph of the lobster boat I worked on for two years, the Double Trouble. A layman wouldn't even know it was a boat for catching lobsters.

Wait a minute. I forgot to look behind me. Hanging on the wall are a pair of fuzzy foot-long lobsters -- of the stuffed-animal variety. They were a gift, received from a marine biologist. She painstakingly used a needle, thread, and, apparently, some red pipe cleaners to transform these innocent, fuzzy, asexual lobsters into anatomically-correct male and female lobsters. That's right -- stuffed animals capable of getting it on.

So it turns out that I have unwittingly begun to acquire lobster paraphernalia, and in a racy way. The question, however, remains. Will "the lobster guy" retain his grip on the bland, lobster-less reality of everyday life? Or will he succumb to the temptation to transform himself into a red-clawed caped crusader, like the super-heroic Lobsterman, and surround himself with lobster kitsch?